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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811568">The gifts we gave each other</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/minjazmin/pseuds/minjazmin'>minjazmin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Body Worship, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bro they are just really in love idk what else to say, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Coping Mechanisms, Dark Will Graham, Domestic, Food, Hannibal Flash Fic #002, Husbands in love, M/M, Murder Husbands, Not Unhealthy mechanisms? idk, Porn With Plot, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Top Will Graham</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:48:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,694</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811568</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/minjazmin/pseuds/minjazmin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Even Hannibal Lecter needed to find ways to cope. To face the rushing waves from which even he was not immune.</p><p>Will wants to give him the world; when would he realise he had already gifted it to him?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham &amp; Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Hannibal Flash Fic #002</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The gifts we gave each other</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Hannibal got like this, Will knew not to disturb him. He was by his side at every moment just in case he needed him. Just in case it became too much to handle alone. And because Will, well, Will could not bear to part from him either.  </p><p>Will would just sit, unspeaking and unmoving, waiting for Hannibal to make his way back to him. </p><p>From the couch, Will couldn’t quite see what Hannibal was painting. Only able to watch his tensed form laboring over his work. Hannibal’s eyes seemed unblinking as steady hands danced the paintbrush across the wooden canvas. Hannibal was painting not because he wanted to, because he needed to. Because it was his way of surviving the surge that was currently rushing his mind. </p><p> </p><p><em> It was all he could see.  </em> </p><p><em> Waves and waves and blackness consuming him; nothingness in every direction.  </em> </p><p><em> Death scared him little; what could death do that Will could not? But Will was gone. Ripped from his grasp as they had broken the surface. A throbbing at the side of his head, ribs which he knew were broken, the gunshot wound, stinging across every inch of his skin; all merely distant pains that screamed not loud enough for him to care. It was all nothing now. If he were to be consumed into the depths of the endless night, would Will be by his side?  </em> </p><p><em> And what if only he managed to wash ashore; how long before he would have to stop searching the seas for the boy who had pulled him under? </em> </p><p> </p><p>The sun had grown high by the time Hannibal was finishing up; rays streaming through the windows and kissing at Will’s stubbled jaw as he watched the man work. Hours spent in the seat, curled up; a constant in Hannibal’s periphery.  </p><p>In these moments, Will’s thoughts were the closest to quiet that they ever were. Enraptured by the man before him, all that discomfited him was the looming space that separated them. It was no more than seven foot, but it was too much. Will wouldn’t dare cross the space until he was allowed in, but he ached to. To take Hannibal in his grasp and never let him go. There was a sanctity to Hannibal’s space; Will knew when he was finally beckoned to break through it to join him; it would be little less than rapture.  </p><p>“What do think, Will?” His voice sought validation; an uncharacteristic insecurity that only Will had ever laid witness to. </p><p>Crossing the space, finally connecting flesh against flesh, Will was not reticent in his touches. Weary eyes welcomed him in and Will devoured; connecting their lips as if it were the first time they had embraced or perhaps the last time they ever would. The artwork was right before his eyes; high cheekbones, dark eyes, waiting lips. A vision of beauty no longer hidden by his person suit. </p><p>Will turned to look at the painting, hands still all over Hannibal. </p><p>His stomach dropped as he took it in. </p><p>It was that moment. The last moment before Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham had died. His throat felt parched and clammy all at once. </p><p>Before him was the cold and the dark. The blue and grey of their becoming. </p><p> </p><p><em> Hannibal. Hannibal. Hannibal. It was all that raced in his mind. </em> </p><p><em> As every muscle screamed for him to get out while he still could, Will swum further from the shore. The sea would eat him; destroy him just as he had destroyed them both.  </em> </p><p><em> In the dark, he saw a shadow. A shaky, deep breath was all he could manage before he dove under. </em> </p><p><em> The body was heavy, limp, lifeless. When he finally got them to the shore, Will could see exactly what he had done. His ear drew quickly against the still mouth as frozen hands searched for a pulse; nothing. Nothing. As he began performing CPR, he wept and screamed until his voice turned to less a hoarse nothingness. This was his doing. </em> </p><p><em> When finally, a sputtered breath had come to answer him, he felt his head turn heavy. But he had done this; and he needed to stop it. Will had no right to mourn his own aches after what he had done. The damp sand below was turn black; darkness spilling from Hannibal as he coughed and writhed. Will was clutching at every wound; his stripped layers of clothing working as makeshift bandages. </em> </p><p><em> He had to stop it; he had to stop him from leaving Will here alone. </em> </p><p> </p><p>“It is perfect, Hannibal,” Will whispered, fingers carding through his hair. </p><p>“You gave me a gift that day, Will,” Hannibal murmured into the tender flesh of Will’s neck, a thumb stroking at the prominent scar across his cheek. “We gave something to each other.” </p><p>Hannibal did not need to elaborate; they both understood entirely. Atop that rocky face, Hannibal had given Will everything and in return Will had taken everything. They had given each other rebirth, death and rebirth again; the chrysalis had opened and inside were the versions of themselves they no longer needed to hide. </p><p>Will threw his head back; presenting his neck to Hannibal. Quick in his motions, Hannibal sucked dark red marks into the bare skin. Hannibal’s fingers clung to Will’s shirt, grasping as if he were offering him water after days lost in a desert. He was losing his trepidation now, fingers snaking downwards to grab at his waistband. But still, a question remained unasked on his lips as he nuzzled into Will’s neck. With increasing pressure Will tugged at silver hair; he adored how Hannibal had yielded his request to let it grow out. </p><p>“What do you need, Hannibal?” He asked as his gaze met dark, wanting eyes. </p><p>“You.” The word was less than a whisper; would not have been heard if it weren’t for the way Hannibal’s lips were ghosting against Will’s ear.  </p><p>Will was more than happy to oblige. Quick and rough hands pushed at Hannibal; Will watched as he fell unceremoniously to his knees against the hard floor.  </p><p>A foreboding presence strode toward him; Hannibal felt obligated to lower his gaze. A sharp grip pulled at his chin until their eyes met; the blue pools of Will’s irises were dancing amongst the flames of his hunger. Will intended to ravish him. The thought alone acted to sate Hannibal’s own desire; between his legs his cock was hard and aching. </p><p>Will came to his knees, equal to Hannibal. And they embraced again, Will’s tongue working open Hannibal’s pretty lips. Will’s hands pulled deftly at the buttons of Hannibal’s linen shirt until he could slip it off and discard it. Every touch of Will’s familiar hands felt fated; there was nowhere they were supposed to be but against his bare flesh.  </p><p>Fingers against his scars, pulling at the hair of his chest, nails digging into soft flesh; endless prayers carved into his skin. Endless prayers which could never be recited enough. </p><p>Sweat clung to Will’s skin; he pulled his shirt from his back and took to using his mouth against Hannibal’s perfect, marred skin. Will’s tongue was languid in its exploration of Hannibal’s chest; sucking lightly at his nipple and revelling in the sounds that left him. One of Will’s hand travelled down to pry at the zip of Hannibal’s pants while the other moved behind him blindly searching for the desk drawer handle. After a moment and a huff of frustration, Will pulled away from the man, turning to pull open the drawer and take out what he was looking for. </p><p>In the moment since they had parted, Hannibal had taken the opportunity to pull himself free of his pants and his underwear. Sprawled across the floor shamelessly, Hannibal’s eyes were a man possessed with need. How could Will deny such a pretty request? </p><p>Will quickly spread lube across his fingers and Hannibal’s entrance. Moans echoed down the brick walls, as Will gently worked a finger into Hannibal. His slow pace was quickly met with the impatient bucking of hips up into him. Will added another finger and continued his languid movements. As he observed the whimpering boy beneath him, Will’s mouth was a thin line, looked almost uninterested, but they could both see Will’s dick tenting in his shorts. </p><p>“Please, Will.”  </p><p>With an urgency that betrayed the calmness of his face, Will spread Hannibal’s legs apart and kneeled between them, pulling out his throbbing cock. As he pushed in, the hissing moans that left Hannibal’s mouth were music to his ears.  </p><p>After a few gentle thrusts, Will set a steady, unrelenting pace which Hannibal seemed more than happy to lose himself in. All he could hear, see, feel was Will. His fingers had found the scar across Will’s abdomen and could not keep his hands away. With each thrust, euphoria came closer to his reach.  </p><p>Will was beauty captured in a single moment above him; toned muscles flexing as he manhandled Hannibal with ease. The sea and the dark could do nothing to him, not now he had Will so close. Will was faltering in his pace as he drew closer and closer; his face was flushing and reckless moans escaped him. His undoing was a masterpiece and Hannibal could not look away. One hand moved down until he took hold of his own leaking cock and stroked it in time with Will’s thrusts.  </p><p>Will pushed Hannibal’s legs until they rested on his shoulders and continue pushing as deep and as fast as he could manage. The desperation that had taken over Will’s face was a poison of which Hannibal would drink every last drop. A particular harsh grunt left Will and Hannibal could no longer contain himself; white spurts covering his stomach. As Hannibal rode the waves of pleasure, Will too found his own; fucking into Hannibal mercilessly as he chased his own high. </p><p> </p><p>Hannibal was not sure how long they had laid on the floor, speechless and breathless, curled into each other. Will’s head rested against his chest and Hannibal took great pleasure in the playing with the boy’s muddled curls. </p><p>“Will you get rid of it for me, Will?” Hannibal asked, peering to the painting stood above them. </p><p>“I’ll take it tomorrow when I do to work,” Will stated, a soft hand running over the soft, scarred flesh of Hannibal’s stomach. “Are you sure you want me to?” </p><p>“What else would I do with it?” </p><p>“I could hang it on a wall.” </p><p>“The paintings of you are a much more pleasant sight.” </p><p>Will only rolled his eyes; quelling Hannibal’s chuckles with his lips. Despite how much Hannibal wished to get up, to shower, to carry Will to bed so they could continue their slumber somewhere other than the study floor, he could not bring himself to move their tired forms. A perfectly-made design of interlocking legs, trailing hands, skin against skin; they were right where they were supposed to be. </p><p> </p><p>*** </p><p> </p><p>Will hauled the wooden board from the back of his truck. Careful not to damage it, he took it through the workshop and to his ‘office’. Little more than a makeshift shed inside the warehouse which Will had been using for storage long before Hannibal had begun his artistic endeavours.  </p><p>But when he had told him to throw the first one away, Will had tried and failed. It was more than just disposing of a canvas; it felt like discarding part of Hannibal. And Will could not bear to lose any part of him. Not even instances past. </p><p>There were two dozen or so now; murky blues, crimson reds, inky blacks, each a memory which Hannibal couldn’t bear to safely store in the corridors of his memory palace. He set this one down, amongst the fabric and paper and wood tributes, locking the door behind him.  </p><p>The shop was empty; no one came in on Thursday. He was sure Julia would have some menial task that he could help with.  </p><p>Will’s Spanish was still rusty, but they held conversation well enough as they sanded down the old cabinet. It was nothing more than chatter, stories of a life he had never had. Feigned interest; Julia was nice, but she was normal. There was something in Will’s head; a persistent thought that was kicking, scratching, shouting for his attention.  </p><p>His eyes lingered back over to his office. Then his feet were moving too. He was here to work. But the shop was empty; no one came in on a Thursday.  </p><p> </p><p>*** </p><p> </p><p>It was Saturday when Will had finally completed his project. It was barely midday, but he was already back home. As he entered the house, his eyes rolled at the new painting which Hannibal had made him hang sat proudly in the entryway; Will’s languid naked form leant against a tree posed as Apollo Sauroktonos. The snake slithering amongst the branches was an addition by Hannibal; a fitting maroon body so perfectly matched it were as if he were looking into Hannibal’s eyes right in that moment. He spied Hannibal deep in concentration at his desk; and entered the study’s open door without knocking. </p><p>“You’re home early.” It was a flat tone that indicated little about how he felt about the interruption. </p><p>“Slow day at the shop.” </p><p>Hannibal simply hummed and continued writing in the journal before him. The cooler in Will’s left hand was undoubtedly heavier but somehow his right arm felt more burdened by the bag in his grasp. His fingers played anxiously with its canvas straps. He walked into Hannibal’s view until he was certain the other man had seen him, had seen his ladened grip; now he had begun his reveal there was no way to back out. </p><p>“I have a gift for you.” </p><p>“A gift? I have not forgotten some special occasion, have I?” Hannibal asked, knowing he had not.  </p><p>“No. I went fishing.” </p><p>A small smile tugged at the corners of Hannibal’s wry mouth as Will lifted the black ice box in his hand. It clunked weightily down against the surface of Hannibal’s desk. It was well-used; well-loved since Hannibal had gifted it to him months ago. Waiting for no invitation, Hannibal clicked open the metal latches and pulled off the lid. Inside sat two large fish; eyes unblinking, predatory glares even in death.  </p><p>Will had made them his prey; now sharp teeth, streamlined body and oily skin were nothing. They had not managed to avert Will’s hook from tearing into their flesh.  </p><p>“Cuban gar?” Hannibal’s brow quirked. “Poisonous eggs become edible flesh; I do wonder if they wish they could avoid metamorphosis all together. Never quite becoming themselves, but a safer existence nonetheless.” </p><p>“They have no choice.” </p><p>“But you did, Will.” </p><p>As he said it, his fingers pushed deftly into indents along either side of the cooler’s inner walls. Something popped and Hannibal lifted the metal tray. Underneath it, another compartment sat unexposed. Nervous anticipation and hunger drawing him in. Hannibal’s heart beat pounded in his throat as he unveiled his gift. A gift created only for him.  </p><p>As Hannibal moved the upper layer to the side, it uncovered the cut of fresh flesh sat waiting for him. The pig must have been slaughtered just today.  </p><p>A section of thigh almost-expertly cut. Will’s growing adeptness with a blade made Hannibal yearn to see his boy in action again. It had been too long. The memory of their last floated in his mind, only was he pulled away from it as Will pushed something else before him. </p><p>On the desk sat a bulky canvas bag; Hannibal turned to Will, hands ready and waiting on the zip. </p><p>“Another gift?” </p><p>Will merely nodded. Eyes fixed; anticipating Hannibal’s reaction. Hannibal turned from the nervous form and back to the bag. Slowly, he pulled open the zip and reached a hand to grip hold of the unknown. It was something heavy and wooden; a smooth lacquered surface. Labored breathes left Will in droves; just as Hannibal was about to ask what was unnerving the boy so, a familiar blue and grey scene emerged from the bag. </p><p>His painting of days previous sat before him, its canvas now immaculately carved into a wooden chopping board.  The weight in his hand suddenly seemed so much; suddenly seemed an almighty task to keep hold of it. </p><p>“If you don’t want to keep it, I will get rid of it right away,” Will said. “I just thought -” </p><p>“It’s perfect, Will.”  </p><p>Will filled the small space which remained between them; walking behind Hannibal and rubbing gently across his shoulders and arms. He peppered soft kisses against the side of his face. Watching Hannibal’s hands intently as he surveyed the wooden board. </p><p>“You mean it?” </p><p>“Would I lie to you, Will?”  </p><p>After he had finished his inspection, he turned to meet Will’s mouth with his own. A soft wet tongue explored Will’s mouth, taking and taking all he was allowed to take. Harsh fingers tightened in Will’s curled locks and pulled him closer; even the smallest space between them was unacceptable. He drew him closer and closer, until Will was sat across his lap with his legs spread.  </p><p>“I kept them all, you know; I couldn’t quite bear to part with them.” </p><p>“Why?” It was a genuine question. </p><p>“They are the truest part of you, Hannibal, if you forget how to remove the mask... I will still have those.” </p><p>Hannibal pulled back; revelling the sight of his lover’s blossoming cheeks, parted lips and half-lidded eyes. But Will looked sheepish, almost guilty for what he had done. Hannibal bore his eyes into Will until he could no longer avert his gaze.  </p><p>“You think I could ever turn back now since being with you like this? The metamorphosis cannot be undone, Mylimasis.” </p><p> Will just shrugged but it did not satisfy Hannibal. His hands clasped around his husband’s face; soft palms comforting him. Slowly Will’s muscles began to ease, a soft smile coming to his face. A wicked smile crossed Hannibal’s face in turn that turned into a gentle chuckle. </p><p>“What would you like for dinner?” Hannibal chimed. </p><p>“Surprise me, my dear.” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Will had taken to the Cuban palate more readily than Hannibal had, but he was eager not to disappoint his love. He had been in the kitchen for hours, and only after the fifth time of asking if he could assist had Will acquiesced and left him alone. As he opened the oven, citrus and garlic notes melted into the air already thick with the smell of roasting meat.  </p><p>He called out the window to tell Will it was almost ready for him; watching the boy finishing up his fussing over the neighbourhood strays before he ambled back in. The air had cooled now, evening had come to be his favourite time of day. The heat clung to him less overbearingly at this time of day; and Will was always home.  </p><p>When Will arrived back inside, he was quick to pull off his boots and take his place at the already-laid table. The aromas hit him too; and suddenly he realised just how hungry he was. With careful hands, Hannibal carried out the painted wooden board and placed it in the middle of the table.  </p><p>“Pernil Asado Con Mojo; slow-roasted pig in a citrus marinade served on a bed of lotus root with blue violets and june berries.” </p><p>The meat and the berries were rich and red among a sea of white roots and blue flowers. Deep cuts across the flesh of the joint ensured that the flavours permeated deep into the meat. Will was ravenous; eager to taste the spoils of his and Hannibal’s work.  </p><p> </p><p><em> He ran down the riverbank aimlessly; not fast enough. The gash across his cheek oozed blood, his hand grasped at it. Desperate and futile. As he looked back once more for the man who was no more than a shadow, he tripped. With a painful crack, the man’s skull hit the ground and he scrambled towards the river. </em> </p><p><em> Will watched his pathetic fight. He’d barely touched him yet and he had already given up.  </em> </p><p><em> Striding over to the struggling man, Will knelt over him and stuck his knife in his shoulder blade admiring the crimson mingling against the sandy dirt. </em> </p><p><em> The lapping water called to Will, calmed him as the man writhed underneath his weight. Whatever words left the man’s mouth quickly turned to mumbled shouts, as Will dragged him toward the river edge and pushed his head under. And then it turned to nothing.  </em> </p><p><em> He took out the saw from his satchel and began his work. </em> </p><p> </p><p>Hannibal had grown accustomed to the much less formal dining which their unremarkable abode allowed. He had no choice but to subsist. But Will was sat across the small table, looking at him like he was serving him the world. Will seemed not to realise that in their death, he was the one who had gifted Hannibal the world.  </p><p>He carved the meat and served Will before himself. But Will did not start eating, even after Hannibal had his own plate before him. </p><p>“Try it first,” Will said, watching as Hannibal slowly acquiesced. “The pig was worried in its slaughter; I do hope it did not ruin the taste.” </p><p>Hannibal slipped the slice of meat slowly between parted lips.  His eyes closed as he bit it from the fork. Each chew was slow and deliberate; not a single flavour was to be missed. Trained eyes stalked his expression; Will was looking at every muscle, every line for some indication of what he thought. The man took another slice of meat on his fork and Will prepared to watch him consume it.  </p><p>The silver fork suddenly turned in his hands. Will opened his mouth expectantly, and wrapped his lips around the fork as he pulled it into his mouth. The flavours hit his tongue instantly, and as he chewed more sensations poured across his mouth. Every not hit him the perfect amount; a perfect symphony playing against his tastebuds. His eyes opened again; earnestly awaiting Hannibal’s reply. </p><p>“What do you think I would say?” Hannibal asked. </p><p>“<em> It is perfect, Will </em>.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really hope you enjoyed the fic!!</p><p>Note: I know Pernil Asado Con Mojo is supposed to be marinated for 24 hours, but let's just suspend some disbelief on that one for the sake of the story ;)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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